


Imprisoned

by krsive



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: A Smidge of Hurt/Comfort, Basically Torture Porn, Blood and Gore, Dead Dove; Do not eat, Erectile Dysfunction, M/M, Prison, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tentacle Rape, Torture, Vomit, Waterboarding, flesh slicing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26362018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krsive/pseuds/krsive
Summary: Rick 072-YX goes through something horrible during his stay in prison.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez/Original Male Characters
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	Imprisoned

The cement walls of the narrow corridor were damp with a noxious- smelling liquid that dripped from the ceiling. A drop fell on Rick's shoulder and the fabric of his orange uniform sizzled. He felt the sting on his skin, hissed and flinched. The gromflomite at his back shoved him with the barrel of its rifle, and he stumbled forward, nearly staggering to his knees. His wrists were shackled close together, throwing off his balance. He righted himself awkwardly.

"Let's keep it moving, Sanchez," the guard shouted menacingly.

Rick was not impressed.

"Or what? You're gonna pull that trigger? We both know your bosses would space you."

"Keep talking and see what happens to you."

"That's the plan."

The gromflomite just kept advancing, marching Rick down the dark, cramped hallway. At the end, they reached a grated door, which was heId open for them by a second guard. Between the two of them, they wrestled Rick into a steel chair which was bolted to the cold concrete floor. The legs of the chair seemed to be adjustable so that it could be tilted backwards or forwards. Immediately, they snapped his ankles into shackles. When one tried to put a collar around Rick's neck, he turned his head and bit down on a chitinous hand. The gromflomite yelped and withdrew, and its colleague came down on Rick with the butt of its gun. Rick felt his cheek crunch. He tasted blood and spat. In the end, his two captors got the collar on him anyway. It was immediately snapped into a hook on the back of the chair. Rick had known they would win. The bite had been a matter of principle. Now his face was throbbing - - his cheekbone most likely broken - - but saying that he fought was worth the pain. 

The door creaked open. Rick tried to crane his head to see who had entered, but the collar kept his neck still. The gritty sound of booted footsteps moved back and forth behind him. Rick laughed brokenly. 

"Nice try, Herr Captain, but you can't scare me." Rick's mouth tasted like blood. Every word lit up his face with a stinging ache. "What do you want, anyway? My portal gun formula, right? Well, joke's on you. I'm a spiteful bitch, and I'm not afraid to die."

"I know," the newcomer said. "I don't want anything from you, prisoner 7493622." They leaned down, so close that Rick felt their foetid breath on his neck. "I paid for you fair and square. And now I'm going to hurt you."

"Bigger, badder things than you have tried."

"Keep talking, 7493622. I like it when they talk."

"Ooh, scary," Rick said. He wriggled his fingers in his lap.

He was terrified. He had never been more helpless than he was in this moment. Blood was still drooling out of his mouth and nose, and he couldn't even turn his head. This wasn't a toothless official interrogation. Rick was already saying goodbye to his teeth. He didn't expect to have them for much longer. 

A wet cloth suddenly covered his face. He could still make out dim shapes through the dark fabric. There was a lurch and his chair tilted back. Rick was expecting water. What he wasn't expecting was ammonia. He coughed and spluttered as the foul liquid ran up into his sinuses. After just a few seconds of torment he began to vomit; thick and lumpen, the contents of his stomach filled his throat. His stomach wouldn't stop heaving, his throat constricting, his lungs convulsing. He was going to aspirate, oh fuck, he was really going to die. So much left unsaid, undone.

_Morty._

The chair slammed upright and the cloth was removed from his face. He immediately spewed vomit all over himself and the floor. It pooled in his lap, covered his hands in greasy slime. The scents of ammonia and bile suffused his mouth and nose. He couldn't stop gagging even once his stomach was empty, cramping painfully. His body wanted to curl in on itself but the collar prevented him.

His tormentor came into view then, when Rick finally looked up. He turned out to be a large Wimberian, his arms thick with muscle. His scaly tail swayed behind him, his red eyes shone with glee. 

And he was wearing the same orange uniform as Rick.

Rick immediately began to thrash in his bonds. If some psychopath had paid for this 'pleasure,' then there really was nothing that would stop him. He would kill Rick. 

The torturer chuckled darkly. "I paid extra for you, you know. Heard that Rick Sanchez was a real badass. What a disappointment." He bent over Rick, bracing one hand on the back of the chair.

Rick tried to spit in his face, but found his mouth to be paradoxically dry. "I didn't disappoint your mother. She loved every inch, the whore." He grabbed at his crotch obscenely. Just a little closer… 

"You wound me," the torturer said dryly. "I never had a mother. And if I had, I'd like to think I would have killed her myself." He shuffled a step closer to get more squarely in Rick's face.

With a grunt of effort he brought his hands up together. The heavy manacles slammed into the torturer's balls. He staggered backward and fell to his knees in a puddle of Rick's filth. Rick had never felt such triumph. It would be his last triumph, and he was satisfied with it. He closed his eyes. Come, sweet death. This time he was prepared. This time he would be fearless.

Come and get me, motherfucker.

The torturer had staggered to his feet by the time Rick opened his eyes again. He growled and gripped Rick's jaw in one enormous hand-- but, Rick noticed with satisfaction, it was shaking. 

"You fucked up, 7493622. Think you're clever?"

"I think you're stupid. And weak. I'm like half your size, bro. You really need me trussed up like this? You need two armed guards? Pussy."

"You're not talking your way out of this. They warned me when I picked you."

"Yeah? Well, nobody warned me about _you_. Know why? Because you're nothing. You're no one. When you die, no one will even know you ever fucking existed. But the whole galaxy knows my name. I'm immortal, bitch."

The torturer gripped a fistful of Rick's hair and twisted. Referred pain lit up Rick's broken face. A box cutter was produced from the torturer's pocket. The blade glinted in the yellow overhead light. The hold on Rick's hair loosened and his tunic was summarily sliced open down the middle from neck to hem.

The torturer whistled. "That's a lot of scars, 7493622. You've been through the wringer. Guess I've gotta do something pretty special to stand out, here…"

Clawed fingers roamed over Rick's chest and stomach. Rick tried to calm himself by breathing slowly, but his sinuses had been burnt to hell by the ammonia and every inhale was sheer agony. The torturer’s boot came up and rested on Rick’s wrists, holding them down as he took Rick’s nipple between his meaty fingers and pulled. He twisted it cruelly, but Rick just laughed. 

“Fuck, dude, you’re giving me a boner,” Rick said, laughing even as his nipple was pulled and stretched out even more.

Then the boxcutter was raised and pressed against Rick’s skin. He recoiled, though he could only pull back a fraction of an inch.

The pain wasn’t the worst he’d ever felt, but the sound as the dull boxcutter sawed through his flesh turned Rick’s empty stomach. The blood that bubbled up was hot on his clammy skin. There was a sickening release of pressure as the last slice was cut away and Rick’s nipple came clean off. He hadn’t even realized how hard he was breathing until he looked down at himself and saw his blood smeared chest rising and falling like the fluttering of hummingbird wings. He needed to calm down or he was going to pass out, but his eyes were glued to the circle of bare meat on the right side of his chest. He somehow managed to lift the heavy manacles to press his shaking fingers to the edge of the wound. It was hot to the touch, which seemed appropriate because the pain was searing.

When his tormentor gripped his face, pressing his thumb into Rick’s crushed cheek, a sob escaped Rick’s lips. And once the first one came, others bubbled up from deep inside his chest. He was going to die filthy and alone in a prison basement, and he hurt so badly, and…

_Morty._

He was never going to see Morty again. He was never going to know what it was like to hold him close and smell the scent of his hair, or kiss his soft lips, or find out what he sounded like when he was in the throes of lovemaking. He was never even going to get to tease him again, high five him after a good adventure, smile at him across the breakfast table.

Goddamnit. Morty had made him so soft. Made him afraid to die. 

The thumb kept grinding into his broken bone. Rick heard himself whining, and his torturer laughing. He cracked his eyes open and looked up at the huge alien’s ugly face. It was split nearly in two with a toothy grin.

“Don’t you think he’s docile enough now?” one of the gromflomites asked from its place in the corner. It was holding its rifle and looking around nervously.

“Not even close.”

Rick’s ears perked up at that. Docile enough? If they wanted him docile, they wanted him alive. Something rekindled in his heart.

“Please,” he begged, hoping that he sounded convincing. His whole body was shaking, his face was covered in blood and snot and his own vomit. It was sure to make a pathetic picture. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want. Just...no more of this, please.” The tears that started to pour down his face weren’t even fake.

The torturer turned Rick’s face this way and that, examining him. He seemed to like what he was seeing, if the gleam in his red eyes was any indication. He ran his thumb over Rick’s lower lip, pressed the tip into his mouth.

A test.

Rick lapped at the digit, glad that his stomach was already empty--it made him sick to play the lapdog like this. He wanted to bite the thumb off and spit it in the alien’s face, but even more than that he wanted to make it back to Morty.The point of one black claw scraped against his tongue. He closed his lips and sucked gently. Suggestively.

"I don't buy it yet," said the torturer. 

He withdrew his hand and circled back around behind Rick's chair. When he came back into view he was carrying a wand with a shiny metal ball on the end. He held it up in front of Rick's face and pressed a button on the end. It hummed and crackled menacingly. Rick's breathing hitched. Oh fuck _Oh fuck oh fuck_. It went inert again. The metal ball caressed his check, hesitated over the pulse in his neck, traced the line of his collarbone. It zig zagged across his chest and halted over the weeping wound where his nipple used to be. 

It sparked to life. The pain was a white hot skewer piercing straight through his lung. He felt like his flesh was turning molten, like it would slough off when the wand was pulled away. His teeth were clenched harder than he would have believed possible. An animal noise rose through his torn throat and reverberated in his closed mouth.

Snot and tears were smeared all over Rick's aching face. His skin felt tight from the drying blood. He couldn't breathe past the thick constriction in his throat. He didn't even feel relieved when the electricity turned off. His heart was fluttering madly, beating in inane stutters. Shit. 

"Looks like you liked that one, 7493622," his tormentor grinned. He pushed Rick's lolling head upright. "Alright, if you insist, I'll give you another."

Rick's eyes shot open wide. "No," he stammered. "I'm an old man. My heart-- my heart will give--"

His words were choked off as electricity lanced through his body again. His hands cramped painfully. His bladder loosed itself. Compared to everything else that was happening to him, the flood of warmth was almost pleasant. He couldn't smell it, thankfully.

Then the pain faded and he sagged. His fingers and toes kept twitching, but he had no strength left in his limbs. He was dimly aware of his ankles being freed.

"He's ready now," he heard someone say, far away and distorted as if he were underwater.

His collar snapped open and he lurched forward. He would have pitched onto his face if a large hand on his chest hadn't stopped him. A string of foul drool poured from his slack mouth onto his hands. There was more talking above and around him, but none of it mattered. He was empty. 

The torturer was doing something Rick didn't understand: roughly pulling his soiled pants off of him. There was a squeal and clank behind him somewhere. Hands on his arms yanked him forward onto his knees. The impact jarred his old bones and he hissed. Now there were two voices and two faint shapes above him. 

"Fuck, that's a beautiful sight. I like 'em with a little fight left in `em, though."

"Let's see you do the hard work next time, then. Bitch."

"Yeah, yeah…"

A slimy dark green tentacle caressed Rick's face, tilting it up and turning it this way and that. 

"You can barely tell it's him," the tentacled alien complained.

"I don't give a shit who he is."

"But I do!" 

"Tough shit. You in or out, Blorbo?"

"In," said the newcomer. 

Rick felt a rough hand grip his hair and tilt his head back. The tentacle withdrew from his face. He felt two more wrap around his thighs. They roughly pulled his legs apart. Understanding dawned on Rick. Mindlessly he began to thrash, twisting his body this way and that and struggling to close his legs. Blorbo laughed in delight.

"Oh shit, he's got a little fight left, after all." Blorbo's tentacles wrapped harder and pried his legs apart again. 

"No," Rick moaned. He weakly lashed his hands out and hit something with all the strength and ferocity of a kitten batting at yarn. The two aliens chuckled darkly. 

A sticky tentacle parted Rick's ass and probed at his hole experimentally.

"Fuck, it's so small," Blorbo said delightedly. 

The torturer shook Rick by the hair. "Bite and I'll cut your fucking throat," he growled. "Open your mouth."

It took a few heartbeats to make a decision. "Fuck yourself," he slurred. There was no way he was making it out of this alive, anyway. What little hope he'd had was gone. This was what they had wanted him pliant for. Nothing pointed to him surviving this anymore.

Blorbo giggled maniacally. "Man, I told you when you picked him you should let me help with prep." A flat green face leaned down over Rick. "'Cause I know where the fabled Rick Sanchez keeps his fucking family."

 _No_. "You're lying."

"I wouldn't have spent so much on untrustworthy info." The tentacle pulsed against Rick's asshole excitedly. Blorbo leaned closer so that the gromflomite guards couldn't hear. "Earth," he breathed.

There was no choice to be made after that. Rick's eyes rolled upwards to meet the torturer's. He opened his mouth obediently. The torturer eased his pants down, revealing a pair of thick, curved cocks. He took hold of one of them and slapped it against Rick's lips.

"Mm, yeah. You're gonna like this, baby, aren't you?" When Rick blanched, the torturer tightened his grip on his hair. "Say it."

"I like it," Rick repeated. He was so disgusted with himself.

The pressure against his asshole turned into a searing burn as a thick tentacle forced its way inside of him. His throat was wrecked, the scream that forced its way up ragged and broken. The tentacle just kept sliding in and in and in until Rick felt a bulge in his lower stomach. Blorbo let out a sort of groaning chuckle, and Rick felt the tentacle start to expand and contract in a rhythmic pulse. He felt sure that his intestines were going to burst. His sphincter was already torn. He could imagine the blood mingling with the sticky mucous of Blorbo’s tentacle and dripping down his thighs..

The torturer shook him by the hair, demanding his attention. “Then I’ll give you exactly what you want, you little whore.”

One of the torturer’s thick cocks thrust into Rick’s mouth. He didn’t go slowly, instead ramming the back of Rick’s throat roughly. He gagged. _Fuck_ , his face hurt so bad. The torturer’s cock was sliding in and out of his mouth now. Rick’s mouth was filling with spit, and he kept choking over and over when his cock smashed into his uvula.

“Jerk me off, bitch,” the torturer demanded.

Rick’s body was wracked by a single sob as he obediently took the torturer’s second cock in his hand and began to stroke it in time with the pulsing inside of his ass. The torturer laid his head back and moaned. He started fucking Rick’s face faster.

Another tentacle prodded along Rick’s chest. A hole in the tip of it opened up, and a long wet tongue lolled out. It lapped at the wound where Rick’s nipple used to be. “Oh fuck, that tastes so good,” Blortbo groaned.

The tentacle licked and sucked at the wound until tears were streaming down Rick’s face from the pain. Then it started to trail down his chest, groping until it found what it apparently wanted--Rick’s flaccid cock. The mouth opened again and sucked him inside. Rick tried to protest but all he could do was moan around the torturer’s dick. 

The torturer laughed. “That’s hilarious,” he said. “Yeah--make him come.”

That was never going to happen. No fucking way. But...Rick was already getting hard inside the tight, wet heat. The muscles inside of the tentacle rippled, squeezing from his base to his tip and then back in a slow but deliberate rhythm. It felt incredible. Rick’s body went fully slack. There was nothing left inside of him.

“Hand,” the torturer growled to him warningly. “Don’t fucking stop. You have no idea how much worse this can get.”

Rick could hardly hold up his manacles, but he renewed his efforts at jerking off the torturer. He only got in a few strokes before two huge hands grasped his head and held him perfectly still. The cock in his mouth pressed in further and further until it slid into Rick’s constricting throat. He tried to swallow, tried to breathe, and panicked when he could do neither. He struggled, but the torturer held his head steady with ease. It was only when the world was starting to grey out at the edges that the obstruction relented. He heaved, but he only brought up a little bit of acid green bile. He only had time to gulp down a few excruciating breaths before the dick was thrust back into his mouth.

By now pleasure was breaking through Rick’s defenses. He tried so hard to ignore it, but despite his mental disgust he couldn’t deny the fact that he had never felt anything as physically pleasant as Blorbo’s tentacle wrapped around his dick. He closed his eyes and tried to forget where he was. He tried to not feel how his mouth and ass were both stuffed to bursting. He tried. He tried to imagine that the source of his pleasure was the one who he secretly desired. It helped a little. It helped take him far, far away from this pit of torment. Pain had ravaged him so completely that it was easier than he’d expected to let it pass over him and through him. 

He was right on the edge when the torturer shoved into his throat again, and he’d forgotten where he was so successfully that the sensation pushed him over. After all, under normal circumstances he _loved_ having his face fucked. He sputtered and choked as he came. It was a brief, unsatisfying orgasm, but it _was_ a climax. As soon as it had passed shame slammed into him like a mack truck. While his body struggled to breathe, his mindscape turned bleak. He was broken. He was disgusting. What kind of sick fuck could come under these circumstances? He’d always known he was a worthless piece of human garbage. Now he had the final, undeniable proof. The fucking cherry on top. The world was starting to go dark again and Rick didn’t even care. It was a disappointment when his airway cleared and his body sucked in air on reflex. The two aliens above him were laughing.

“Shit, Sanchez, if you wanted to fuck me so bad you could have just asked,” Blorbo cackled. The pulsing of the tentacle inside Rick’s ass had quickened, intensified. “Gonna come inside your sweet little ass, now.”

The torturer squeezed Rick’s face, causing him to whimper, and somehow managed to shove his second dick into his mouth. “Wanna see you swallow both my loads,” he growled. 

The pain had all returned. Good. Rick deserved it. He sagged helplessly, held up by the torturer’s grip on his hair. That seemed to encourage him, and he hummed in approval as he fucked Rick’s face.

Blorbo finished first. Rick felt an explosion of heat deep inside himself. He heard Blorbo groan in exaggerated relief. When the tentacle slithered out of him, Rick felt warm liquid run down his thighs. He could feel his stretched hole fluttering wildly. 

The torturer reached out and drove the tip of one claw into the center of the wound on Rick’s chest. When Rick started hyperventilating and whimpering, the torturer came, too. Semen spilled from Rick’s mouth, poured down his throat, and flooded his burnt sinuses.

Rick was unceremoniously dropped on the floor, naked and spent. He had given up on himself, and didn’t even try to sit up. But he couldn’t keep himself from looking up at the pair of aliens standing over him. He wanted to see his death coming. And it was coming, he was sure of it.

The torturer placed the toe of his boot on Rick’s throat and slowly rolled his weight forward. “Goodbye, 7493622,” he said. “Time to sleep.”

 _Thwip! Thwip!_ Two quick laser blasts went off. Rick watched the torturer’s eyes roll back in his head, watched him fall to the floor. He heard Blorbo topple, as well. The two gromflomite guards approached from their respective corners. One of them kicked Rick onto his back, looking down at him through his unreadable insectoid eyes. 

“You were right,” it said. “I’d be fucked if I let you die.”

Rick let his eyes close. He didn’t want to live, but it seemed that even that choice had been taken from him. In his mind, he deliriously apologized to Morty over and over again until he passed out.

***

The escape pod settled onto the front lawn in the middle of the quiet suburban night. Rick pitched out onto his knees in the soft grass. It was spring, he was pretty sure, maybe April. It _smelled_ like April. A mockingbird chattered somewhere nearby. Rick pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was home. He was really home.

The spare key was still under the planter by the front door, and Rick used it to let himself in, closing the door behind himself quietly. He would wake the family soon, but he wanted to wake Morty up first. He was starving for the sight of his grandson’s face; he’d held it in his heart every night during the long months of his imprisonment, but the image had begun to fade. Now he was moments away from seeing the real thing again. He started toward the stairs, walking quietly in his canvas shoes, but a thought occurred to him and he stopped. He didn’t want Morty to see him in his orange uniform. It was embarrassing, undignified...shameful. So he turned his feet towards his dingy little bedroom. A quick change of clothes and he would see his boy again.

His door always creaked a little, so he was extra careful when he opened it, but it still made a sound. A strip of light from the office across the hall dimly illuminated the room. Rick’s breath caught in his throat.

Morty was laying in Rick’s cot, one bleary eye open and squinting against the light. Rick watched waves of understanding wash over Morty as his soft green eyes opened wider and wider. “R-R-Rick?” he said, his voice hoarse from sleep. He hurriedly pushed himself up, sitting in the bed, seeming to have no idea what to do with his hands as he drew his knees up to his chest.

And then Rick was closing the distance between them, all else forgotten. “Morty,” he tried. His voice cracked and he swallowed thickly. “Morty.”

Morty swung his legs over the edge of the cot and Rick fell to his knees between Morty’s legs. He took Morty’s face between his hands and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss.

Morty stiffened. Rick, realizing what he had just done, started to pull away in shame. Morty caught him by the front of the shirt and pulled him back in. He kissed him back with a clumsy, inexperienced ferocity that left Rick breathless. Rick put his arms around Morty’s waist and pulled him closer. He felt Morty’s small fingers tangle in his hair.When Rick pulled back, Morty whimpered and tried to chase his lips.

“I love you, Morty,” he murmured urgently. He kissed him again. “I love you. I love you. I’ve always--”

“I love you, Rick.” Morty’s voice cracked. A sob bubbled up from deep inside of him. “Oh god, I thought I’d n-never see you again. I thought I’d never g-g-g-get to t-tell you.”

Rick laughed for sheer joy. He pressed his lips to Morty’s neck and felt his pulse beneath his tongue. Morty shuddered and sighed. His fingers roamed lightly over Rick’s cheek, his throat, the dip of his collarbone that showed through the deep v neck of his orange tunic. He touched him like he was afraid, soft and hesitant. As if Rick wasn’t sucking bruises into his neck, wasn’t clutching at his hips and holding him close to his chest.

“I want you,” Rick told him. He pushed Morty’s teeshirt up and off of him. He kissed his way down Morty’s chest and paused to lick a hot stripe over the boy’s nipple. Morty moaned lewdly above him, and--

_The wet, meaty sound of the knife sawing through his flesh. A sick tearing sensation as his nipple was finally pulled free._

No. He wasn’t back there anymore. He was here with Morty, with the sunshine of his life. He was free.

“Rick?”

He realized he’d frozen. He took a second to compose his face before turning his eyes up towards Morty. That helped. Those green eyes...they were looking at him like he was the whole world. Rick’s smile grew a little more real.

“Yeah, baby?”

He watched Morty blush and squirm at the pet name. “Are you ok? You stopped…”

“I’m fine, fuck. Let an old man catch his breath.”

“O-o-oh. Sorry.”

The moment of defensiveness passed, and he regretted snapping immediately. He traced his fingers gently up and down the curve of Morty’s spine, earning a shiver from his grandson. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I...It’s been a long day.” He let out a weak chuckle, hoping he had smoothed things over sufficiently.

Morty touched him just under his jaw, and Rick absolutely melted. “Rick...you just apologized to me…” He looked like he had no idea what to do with this scenario, like it had thrown him off more than Rick shoving his tongue down his throat.

“I--I missed you,” Rick stammered. It was the only explanation he had to give.

Morty seemed to understand. A little more resolve crept into his expression. “I missed you, too, Rick.”

“You were sleeping in my room.”

“I…” Morty looked away. “I have been. Just in c-c-case you came back.”

Morty had held out hope this whole time. Rick’s chest swelled. He ran his hands from Morty’s hips down the outsides of his thighs. “You’re hard,” he said very, very quietly. He squeezed Morty’s thighs and then ran his hands back up to the waist of Morty’s pajama pants. “Let me make you feel good, Morty,” he breathed as he pulled his pants off of him. 

Morty gasped, but he lifted his hips to help him. Still, he covered his erection from view until Rick gently pushed his hands out of the way. Rick drank in the sight eagerly.

“C-c-can you get the j-jokes out of the way quick?” Morty asked, his voice high and tight.

“Jokes?” Rick asked, genuinely confused.

“You know. ‘Wow, Morty--any smaller and I’d need a microscope to--’”

“Morty,” Rick said sternly. He took Morty’s cock in his hand and began to stroke it slowly. His thumb rubbed at the sensitive spot just under the glans. Morty moaned a bit louder than Rick should have allowed, but right now he didn’t care if the whole family came bursting into the room and saw. “You look so beautiful. You’re perfect.”

“Aw geez,” Morty said. He held his hands to his chest, his fingers twisting with one another nervously. 

Rick bent low over Morty and licked up the underside of his cock from root to tip. Morty keened as Rick took him fully into his mouth. He started to bob his head when--

_The foul taste of unwashed dick in his mouth. His jaw dislocated to accommodate the torturer’s cocks._

Rick sat back as if he’d been shocked. He didn’t even realize that he had until he realized that Morty was straddling his lap, cupping his cheek and calling his name. Rick gripped Morty’s upper arms with shaking hands, squeezing harder than he’d meant to.

“Rick!” Morty was saying. “Rick! What’s wrong? What’s--you’ve gotta tell me what’s wrong, Rick! Do you need a...a...a doctor?”

“No,” Rick finally answered.

That was when he realized. The final blow. Rick had come home, had kissed Morty and touched him and tasted him the way he’d always wanted to...and he hadn’t felt a single stirring in his loins the whole time. He was completely flaccid even before he freaked out. 

He was broken.

“Morty, get your clothes on and get out,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Morty recoiled sharply. “What? Rick, no! How can you ask me to--”

“I said _go_ ,” he shouted.

Morty scrambled out of his lap. Rick sat there in a daze while Morty, crying, got into his clothes. He was almost to the door when he stopped in his tracks. Rick barely registered his hesitation until Morty rounded on him, all crying ceased. 

“No, Rick! I’m not gonna go!” He stomped back over to Rick, gesticulating wildly. “You can’t come in here a-a-a-a-and _kiss me_ and a-a-all that other stuff and _say you love me_ and then just tell me to get the fuck out! You’ve been gone for _six months_ , Rick! I’ve cried for you every single night and nothing is gonna k-keep me away from you now! Not even you!” 

Morty dropped to his knees in front of Rick, and when he reached out to touch his cheek Rick flinched away. Instead, Morty took Rick’s hands in his own, and only then did Rick realize that he was shaking all over, down to his fingertips.

“Some really bad stuff happened to you, didn’t it?” Morty asked quietly.

Rick’s mouth was dry. He nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he turned his face away in shame. This was a nightmare. This was hell on earth. He was like a man dying of thirst holding a glass full of saltwater.

Morty climbed to his feet, pulling Rick along with him by his hands. He pushed Rick onto his cot and followed in after him, laying on his stomach above him. Very tenderly, he wiped Rick’s tears away with his thumb.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Rick still hadn’t looked at Morty. He was afraid of what he’d see in his eyes. Disgust, disappointment.

“You don’t have to. Ever,” Morty said gently. “A-a-and we never have to do anything like...like what we just did.”

Rick laughed bitterly. “Thinking that we might--that we--that we could…” He dared a glance up at Morty. All he saw in his face was love. Pure, overwhelming love. “I _want_ to,” he said, as if three words were enough to explain the problem.

“Ok. But it doesn’t have to be tonight, o-o-o-ok, Rick? Maybe...maybe you can just hold me. I’d really like it if you would hold me, Rick.”

The look on Morty’s face was so earnestly pained that Rick didn’t have it in him to refuse. He wrapped his arms around his grandson, who laid his head on Rick’s shoulder. 

“This is enough, Rick,” whispered Morty. He laid his hand over Rick’s heart. 

And it would have to be.


End file.
